


Maybe Only Silence Really Exists

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: What were we thinking?We thought that the two of us, the love we shared, would’ve been enough to shut out this raging reality?I’d hated those days, those that were supposed to be the happiest in my whole life.





	Maybe Only Silence Really Exists

What were we thinking?

We thought that the two of us, the love we shared, would’ve been enough to shut out this raging reality?

I’d hated those days, those that were supposed to be the happiest in my whole life.

And I hated them because all the happiness we were trying to build tasted fake, like we were lying to ourselves, in order to avoid to admit that love is stronger than war, but that war could send love to oblivion.

That’s what your endless silences were telling me, Bill.

I saw you coming back home more and more discouraged, more tired of all you were forced to see.

And I waited for you, every night, like the good wife everyone was expecting me to be.

I harboured a sort of resentment toward you. I didn’t know who to blame for what was happening, and you were the only one beside me.

I’ve understood it a long time later. I understood that you wanted to protect me from that world, which was becoming more and more filthy with blood. But you never comprehended that we had promised to share everything, and that you had broken that promise the moment you pronounced it. But, for some reasons, I didn’t get mad.

I just sighed, almost aware of an unexpected relief, because we weren’t changed. It was just the wind blowing in the wrong direction, raging, trying to beat us down.

And you kept me standing, always risking to fall yourself.

I would’ve just wanted for you to tell me.

Because I had grown tired of being the wife that wits, ever hoping of seeing the door opening, ceasing to feel that crazy anxiety of ignorance, at least until the next morning.

It wasn’t how I had imagined it, and you should know it. You knew it was wrong to get married in that context, you knew we would’ve suffered this silence, this uncertainty, this sharp confusion, that too many times made me desire to get out these four walls, to run from this home we’ve built to be the stage of our love.

But I never did, because among my many faults I’ve got this reigning stubbornness, which pushed me to wait for you, every minute of every day, just to see you smiling every time.

A smile fake like nothing else in the world, but enough to make me still believe in us.

 

“I wanna know what’s going on.” I asked you one night, almost distracted, while we ate in the dining room, sunk in the usual, oppressing silence.

And you sighed, because you knew I wouldn’t have concealed my intolerance anymore.

“There’s nothing going on that’s any different from the usual. You listen to the radio and you read the papers, don’t you? Can’t you see what’s going on?” you said, a tad annoyed, a thing I wasn’t able to let go.

“Yes. But I’m tired of news filtered by censure, of the lies that keep flowing like their a routine. I don’t care what they want me to believe, I want the truth, once and for all. The one you’re hiding from me.” I demanded, with the anger I had repressed until then.

You stood up and shook your head.

Then, all of a sudden, you hugged me. I felt your warm skin against mine, I could almost feel your pain flowing through your limbs, like you wanted me to see it.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know the truth.” you murmured, your voice broken. And I finally noticed that your silence wasn’t hiding a desire to protect me, but the strange and bizarre belief that I was stronger than you, somehow.

I hugged you back, in the desperate attempt to alleviate that pain.

But I kept quiet, because there was nothing else to say.

 

It had been a moment, then everything passed.

You kept going out every morning, getting back tired at nights, lying by my side without saying a word, as usual.

As if that routine was the best we could aspire to. As if our marriage, a few months old, had suddenly withered, wearing us out, exhausting us.

I kept walking on the edge of doubt during the darkest moments of the day, until something about you, even the smallest thing, managed to convince me again that my place was beside you, whatever happened.

I had learnt to coexist with this deep pain, to shut up that part of me that was trying to rebel to a war that had crept inside our home, our bed, our minds, that was corrupting us like the worst of evils.

A war that would’ve made our love wither only if we would’ve allowed it.

It took me some time, but in the end I managed to cry for what we were doing to ourselves.

At your side, quiet as usual, I cried all my tears, trying not to wake you up.

The morning after, I woke up inside your embrace.

And I smiled, maybe an honest smile.

That which you weren’t going to see.

When you want things to change, you have to do something to change them.

That’s what I’ve been taught.

And I realized I had become too good to play the part of the spoilt brat, the one only capable of complaining, expecting for other people to act in her stead.

But I would’ve shown you how Fleur Delacour was more than this, how she was able to take the reins of that reality that was slowly melting down, from the top down.

I would’ve shown to you, Bill, and I would’ve shown to myself.

There wasn’t much I could actually do, except the little things, the ones that were able to salvage even the worst situation.

I smiled harder, because I owed it to that love that I knew was still alive under the sign of age on your face, under my nails eaten to the flesh, under our eternal silences.

That night you came back home looking more tired that usual.

And I ran toward you, my eyes almost shining. I threw myself at you and I kissed you, the enthusiasm over the top, but necessary.

And while I bit my lip, trying to talk, you took the reins with me.

“I love you, Fleur.” you whispered, simply.

Then, a smile.

Evanescent, it didn’t last longer than a second, but maybe the most beautiful thing that ever happened to us.

Because that smile was sincere, Bill.

“I love you too.” I said, solemnly, but then I smile as well.

We went back to our routine.

Silence was suddenly filled with all the love we withheld from each other.

And it was worth more than anything else.  


End file.
